Honour Among Thieves
by DorianGray91
Summary: Hook's just returned from Neverland, with no useful leads on how to find the Dark One, let alone defeat him. One night, after the usual binge at the nearest tavern, his path crosses with an unlikely woman who's got an agenda of her own. Where will this twist of fate take him next? AU, Hook/OC, rated T for now and perhaaaaps M later.
1. Chapter 1

**1**

 _ **I'd risk my life for two things: love and revenge. I lost the first. And if I die for my vengeance, then that's enough satisfaction for me.**_

"Where is it? _Where is it_? Where have you hidden it, you son of a—"

A noise from above deck made her flinch. Her hands froze on the lid of a chest, her heart giving an uncomfortable lurch, then starting again in double time. A trail of emptied drawers and boxes betrayed her passage across the cabin: quills, trinkets, maps, compasses, clothes and empty bottles strewn across every surface.

Briefly she checked the window. It was still open, and large enough for her to squeeze through. She'd made sure of that before she'd started searching.

Silence pressed in on her. The noise was nothing. Just a rat, or at worst a drunken sailor who had wandered onto the wrong ship and off again. Nobody in their right mind would ever come near this vessel wittingly. They all knew who it belonged to.

 _What does that make me, then?_ she thought as she resumed her frantic digging. _Out of my mind?_

Out of her mind with fury. Out of her mind with worry. But no—not insane. Not quite yet. As long as she still had this to live for, she could manage.

Her hair had managed to slip out of its bindings again, falling over her shoulders and getting in her face. Impatiently she pulled the brown curls back and retied them, kicking over a box in her hurry to see its contents. Only gloves, and a framed drawing of a woman concealed at the bottom. Did he still have the bloody thing, or had he sold it on already?

Greedy, grasping, avaricious _pirates_. The value of a man's life was just a sum of gold to them. What did they care if people died in exchange for their wealth?

Without quite realising, Delila caught sight of herself in the looking glass as she passed it. At first she started, thinking it was an intruder. On second glance she almost laughed, recognising her own wide blue eyes in a neat, square face. The face was about the only thing she recognised: it had been a while since she'd looked in a mirror, or had a decent set of clothes.

 _No time_ , she reminded herself, and flung open a drawer at random. Almost immediately, however, she froze again. This time the noise was definitely real—and far too close for comfort.

"Hold it there," came a voice from just beyond the hatch. It was a dark voice, a rough voice, a voice with no mercy. "You're trapped. Don't try anything stupid."

 _The window, the window_ , a voice screamed in her head, but a pair of knee-high boots and the hem of a long, leather cloak had already appeared at the top of the steps. He was moving too quickly; if she ran for it now, he'd be there in time to grab her as she tried to wriggle out.

Delila watched in a kind of hateful fascination as the boots and cloak were followed by a pair of black trousers, an embroidered red waistcoat, frilled shirt cuffs, one bejewelled hand… and one sharpened silver hook.

She stared at that hook for so long that when she looked up again, he'd already reached the bottom of the stairs. His face was the next shock. She'd expected a ragged beard and a scarred, broken-nosed face. A brutal face.

Instead, a pair of keen blue eyes peered at her from under quirked, inquisitive brows. There was a beard—short and tamed—and a straight nose leading down to shapely, smiling lips. His high cheekbones cut striking lines across his face, emphasised by the moonlight.

He was, without a doubt, very handsome. And it only made her hate him more.

"Well," said Hook, and suddenly all the roughness was gone from his voice. She realised he'd expected her to be male: his relaxed posture said as much. "From the state of my cabin, I'm guessing you're not a surprise from Smee. Unless this is a speciality of yours. Creating an atmosphere, as it were."

He smirked, enjoying his little joke.

"No?" he asked when she remained coldly silent. "That's a shame. I don't often come back on my own after a night on the town. I was hoping to have some time alone, but this would have been much nicer, on second thoughts."

Still she said nothing, her eyes never leaving his part of the room.

"Alright," he agreed finally. "Let's cut the formalities short. You've made a pigsty of my cabin, and now I'm angry. You're going to tell me why you did it. Then I'm going to have you keelhauled all the way to the next port. Understood?"

"I need something you took," she snapped abruptly, surprised at her own ferocity. "I was looking for it."

"Well, why didn't you just ask me?" He took a step towards her-a step so smooth she might have imagined it. "We could have struck some kind of bargain, I'm sure."

"Not with you. Pirates don't do fair deals."

She edged sideways towards the window, trying to do it like him, unnoticeably. Unfortunately, sideways was a much more obvious movement than forwards, and he spotted it with a patronising smile. It was unnerving, how friendly he came across despite the hard glint in his eye.

"I see," he said finally, laying a hand on the hilt of his sword. "You don't have anything valuable enough to bargain with."

"I spent the last of my money travelling to this disgusting place. I thought it was finally in reach-then I found out you'd stolen it. From a man's corpse, in fact, after your crew did away with him."

Hook stood very still for a few moments, his eyes locked with hers. She could see his mind working furiously behind them, could hear the parts falling into place.

"Right," he said finally. "Well, now I'm curious. What would a high-born girl like yourself want with a diamond-shelled egg?"

Delila's stomach jolted. She'd given so much away with just a few words.

"Don't look so startled. You're not the first to be overwhelmed by my powers of intellect." He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and began polishing his hook with it, even taking his eyes off her for an instant. "I remember the man well. He was gambling in the Broken Crown, and he kept flashing the egg at everyone, trying to lure them in. It worked, too. He made a small fortune-didn't lose a single game all night. He was particularly rude to me on his way out. The rest you can piece together yourself."

Delila jumped away as she suddenly clocked that he'd moved another two steps towards her. When had he done that?

"Not so fast," the pirate murmured, tucking the handkerchief away. "I just sharpened this yesterday. Go for the window, and you'll end up dangling off it like a fish."

Something in his expression assured her that he wasn't bluffing. Delila took quick, shallow gulps of air and forced herself to stand still.

"Good girl."

This time he didn't even try to conceal his approach. Swaggering right up to her, he used the hook to comb a few stray curls back from her face. It was coming out of its binding again. She shivered at the cold touch of steel, but didn't dare flinch away.

"I'll be honest." He bared his teeth in a wry grin. "There aren't many who'd dare set foot on my ship, much less ransack my cabin. You've got grit, sweetheart. But you still haven't answered my question, and I don't like asking twice."

He'd backed her up against a desk, his face so close she could smell the rum on his breath, sharp and smoky.

"It's a long story." Stalling for time, she reached behind her, her fingers travelling over the objects on the table. Books, fabric, parchment… ah. There.

The captain looked her up and down appraisingly; one of his dark brows twitched. "I've got all night, love. You go ahead and tell me everything."

"Well," Delila said, "it's like this."

Then she swung the empty bottle with all her might.

Glass shattered over Hook's forehead, raining down on the both of them like diamond chips. He stumbled backwards, cursing colourfully as she dashed for the window. The blow, however, wasn't enough to stun him for long. She'd barely managed to climb onto the frame before a vice-like grip closed around her shoulder, wrenching her back into the cabin and flinging her to the floor. The breath was thumped out of her body as she landed face-up, then he was hauling her to her feet, pinning her arms to her sides in a choking embrace. The buttons of his coat pressed into her back. She felt warm air on her neck, heard his panting right next to her ear.

The silvery hook hovered in front of her face, then its point rested against her chin.

"You've got until the count of three," he hissed. "Then it's going in your neck."


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

 _ **For at least among thieves, there is honor!**_

"I need it to open a door!" Delila said, her voice small and shrill as she watched the hook disappearing out of her line of sight. "I need it to open a door!"

The pirate's grip only tightened. At her throat, Delila felt the cold sting of metal. "Good start. A little sketchy."

"The egg is an offering, it lets you pass through."

"Yes, and two add two equals four. Tell me something I don't know. What's behind this door?"

"The greatest treasure in the world," Delila breathed, just managing to keep her voice steady.

He span her around, keeping a tight grip on her shoulder, and once again placed the hook at her jugular. He wanted to see her face, she realised. Lying was too easy with her back to him.

"Treasure?" he repeated. "What kind of treasure?"

"The best kind." She made herself meet his gaze, refusing to blink. His eyes were so blue-lagoon blue. The colour of the tropics.

"And you want to retrieve this treasure why?"

"To restore my family name. Our house was of a high rank, once, in our corner of the realm. Now it's destitute."

"I see." From his expression he seemed convinced, though he didn't lower his weapon. "And in which _corner of the realm_ is this door?"

"Not far from where I lived. The only reason I'm all the way out here is the egg."

He paused, reflecting. "But you're clearly a resourceful sort of lass-lady," he amended quickly as she shot him a glare. "Why not find your fortune somewhere else? Somewhere easier to get into, for one. Like my cabin."

At this she shifted uncomfortably, hoping he wouldn't think to check her pockets for coins and trinkets. He simply chuckled at his joke, however, and pressed a little harder against her neck.

"Like I said, it's not like ordinary treasure. It's unique. Worth more gold than my family ever had."

"How do you know?"

"An old man told me. Some kind of wizard, I think. He told me how to get through the door, and what to do once I'm inside."

"And you'd believe the word of a decrepit lunatic?" Hook lowered his head and gave her an admonishing look. "Listen darling, you've made a decent pitch, all things considered, but I'm not buying. You think I'll let you off in exchange for a share of this plunder? That I'll offer you passage and we'll turn rudder to shore together? I'll only risk my life for two things: love and revenge."

"Doesn't love of money count?"

To her surprise, he laughed. "The first honest thing I've said all night, and she mocks me for it. No, I'm afraid money doesn't count. Not when my neck's on the line-or my reputation. So unless you've got some extremely useful information on how to dispatch the Dark One, your fate is already sealed, love."

He drew a jagged line across her throat, and for a moment she thought he had really slit it. Her hands flew to the spot, but there was only a scratch, slightly raised as the skin became inflamed. It was still enough to break her last nerve.

"But I do know about the Dark One!"

The captain's face dropped. "Don't bluff me, girl. I don't get on well with liars."

"I'm not lying. Why would I lie?"

"To keep yourself alive."

"Alright, fair point. But I'm not lying. I know where you can find out more about him." Delila's legs were trembling as though she'd just run five leagues, her heart bouncing off her ribs.

"Where? You just said you _knew_ the information."

"Look, I'm your best chance of discovering his secrets and that's that. If you don't believe me, go ahead and kill me. Good luck with your revenge."

They stared one another down for what felt like an eternity. At last, Hook rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of exasperation.

"Fine. Go on and convince me. If you really do have something useful for me, I might not have to kill you after all."

"If you kill me, you'll never find out what I know."

The pirate blinked. He dipped his head in a swift double-take, then cocked it to the side incredulously. "You're not seriously trying to bargain with me, are you?"

"I still need that egg."

"There are no negotiations on this, sweetheart. You tell me everything, and I let you go. That's all there is to this transaction."

"Too bad. Like I said, I still need the egg, and I'm not leaving without it."

In a flash, his hand had jumped from Delila's shoulder to the back of her head; he took a fistful of her hair and yanked her towards him. Hissing, she only struggled for an instant before deciding that resistance wasn't worth the pain. He leaned in, his nose just a few inches from hers, every line of his face etched with malice.

"Stubborn thing," he tutted. "You think I won't do worse than kill you? You said so yourself-pirates don't do fair deals."

"And you said there were only two things you'd risk your life for," she spat back at him. "So you'll understand me when I say this. There's only two things I'd endure torture for: love, and diamond-shelled eggs."

Hook's blue eyes moved rapidly back and forth as he searched her face. Amidst the prickling fear and the boiling anger, she found herself tingling with another sensation. He was so close she could feel his breath stirring against her lips, could make out every lash around his kohl-rimmed eyes. Suddenly the little space left between them was palpable, vibrating with energy. His disfigured arm slid around her waist, the hook digging into the small of her back.

"You know, I'm really beginning to like you," he said, his mouth curving in another winning smile. "But you're right. Torture it is."


	3. Chapter 3

3

 _ **A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.**_

Delila blinked. She craned her neck, peering around the brig through the bars of her cage. How long had she fallen asleep for? A second? A minute? Already the discomfort was too much: she had to move again.

Slowly, stiffly, she propped herself up on one elbow and began the process of turning over. She couldn't kneel on all fours in the cage; the ceiling was too low even for that. Instead she had to slide her bent, cramped legs underneath her, one after the other, until her body was facing the other way. When she lay at a diagonal she had the most space, with the crown of her head pressed against one corner and her knees squashed into another. The bars were too close together to stick her legs through. She wasn't sure how long it had been since she'd last stretched them. A day and a night, at least. Her throat was parched, her belly sore with hunger, her eyes itching for want of sleep. On top of that, the bars beneath her dug into her body no matter how she lay. She felt bruised all over.

A hatch opened above, and footsteps echoed on the wooden stairs. She knew it was him; she'd watched many a crew mate scurry past on their way to collect something or other, and none of them had his distinct, confident gait. It was the walk of a man in charge.

"How are we holding up, sweetheart?"

Delila didn't bother to look up as he came to a halt in front of the cage. His clothes rustled, letting her know he'd dropped into a couch, but still she ignored him.

The next sound, however, made her head jerk about so fast that she pulled a muscle.

"I thought so," Hook smirked, and sloshed the water around the cup again. "Did you want a drink?"

Knowing better than to answer, Delila propped herself up as best she could, watching him steadily. He had taken her cloak before forcing her into the prison, and her fingers and toes were turning a delicate purple. She shivered a little in the dank air.

The captain's expression softened. Gently he raised the cup and pressed it against the bars.

"Drink," he urged softly.

She held herself back a moment longer, regarding him with mistrust. Finally she edged towards the cup, straining to reach it with her dry mouth.

Hook snatched the water away just as the rim touched her lips. "But first," he said, "tell me what you know."

Shooting him a venomous look, she simply made a disgusted noise and turned away.

"Don't make it hard for yourself. Just tell me, and this can all be over in a heartbeat."

"I can't leave without the egg," she muttered sullenly. "I've come too far."

"You _went_ too far, and look where it got you. This is just the beginning, love. You should have known better than to mess with pirates."

"If you're not going to give me water, then leave me alone."

Laughing, he shifted to a more comfortable position, boots scraping the floor. "Ordering me about on my own ship! Don't you have any sense of self-preservation?"

Silence.

"Keep pushing me, lass, and I'll be forced to raise my game. You don't want that."

Silence.

"Fine," he sighed. "We'll have another little chat in a few hours. I'm sure you'll be much more compliant by then."

There was a _clink_ as he kicked the cup over. Then at last his footsteps receded, and the hatched banged closed.

Delila wiped an angry tear from her cheek, and began the long, painful move onto her other side again.

* * *

Hook closed the hatch, and stood looking down at it for a long moment.

She was holding up well. Too well. He'd hoped a day in the cage would sway her; she was only a delicate little thing, after all.

Unfortunately for them both, it seemed her will was made of much stronger stuff. He had neither the patience nor the pity to simply wait for her spirit to break.

"Mister Smee," he called across the fo'c'sle.

His first mate rolled out of a hammock and shambled over, looking rather groggy. It was still early in the morning, and most of the crew were asleep. "Captain?"

"The girl isn't responding well to our treatment."

"I see."

"I want every man to arm himself with a needle or knife. Anything small and sharp. It's time to sweat the wench." As Smee clapped his hands and bowed, Hook raised a warning finger. " _No_ cutlasses, _no_ swords. I want her in pain, not bleeding to death. If I find any deep cuts, it'll be on your head."

"Yes Captain, of course Captain."

"And don't go near her face," he added as an afterthought. He didn't give a reason for it, and Smee didn't ask for one. "Tell her whenever she wants it to stop, she can ask for me, and we'll have another chat."

"You won't be there, Captain?"

"No. I have other matters to attend."

The first mate bowed low and shuffled off to rouse the others. Satisfied, Hook made his way above board and took a quick turn about the decks, ensuring everything was in order. He didn't listen out for the crew's movements, though he sensed them, as a spider senses vibrations in its web. Finally, with nothing else to occupy him, he returned to his own quarters.

The place was still a mess. He probably ought to tidy it, but there was a sort of charm to the chaos that he couldn't quite shake. She'd searched the cabin thoroughly, unearthing some things even he had forgotten about over the years.

Without quite realising where his feet were taking him, he found himself standing over the glove box. He bent down, moving a glove aside, and picked up the picture of Milah. This hadn't been forgotten-merely hidden. It had once taken pride of place at the centre of his desk, and in the months after her death, he'd kept it on his person night and day. Eventually, as the years and then decades passed in Neverland, he'd looked at it less and less, and every time he did he wished he hadn't.

He wondered what he used to feel when he looked at it. Sometimes he thought he could remember: a kind of purity, a sort of gladness, even through the haze of grief. It had brought him comfort, knowing that their love still lived despite her death. Now when he traced the familiar lines, trying to summon up that sensation, all that came to him was a hollowness in his gut and a bitter taste in his mouth.

He _knew_ she had been important. He _knew_ they had been happy. But the only thing he truly felt was rage, and the only desire he had was revenge.

Now he stood in pensive silence, his eyes running over the image again and again. She had been beautiful, in her own way: fierce, striking, mature. There were plenty of other women who were prettier, and he'd had a lot of them, but only she had possessed that startling mixture of qualities he found so attractive. Independence, callousness, wanderlust… and an insatiable, desperate thirst for love.

This new girl was an enigma. Her motives seemed obvious-from a pirate's point of view, anyway-but he sensed she was keeping something back. More than her information about the Crocodile. He'd seen that look before: the look of someone who thought a lot and spoke little.

Where were her parents? Who had been the cause of her family's ruin? What had the old wizard told her that she wasn't giving away?

 _If there even is a wizard_. He grunted dismissively, and put Milah's image back into the glove box, along with the gloves. Slowly, grudgingly, he went about the task of restoring his cabin to its former state.

He pointedly ignored the voice at the back of his mind that asked him why he wasn't in the brig, overseeing the girl's punishment.


	4. Chapter 4

4

 _ **We'll take what we please! And we'll live by our own rules. For that is the best form of all!**_

An hour or so after the crew had left, Hook reappeared. Evidently his ugly rat of a first mate had reported back. Delila wondered if Smee had told his Captain all the details-like the fact that they'd started off jeering and laughing, but after twenty minutes of prodding her with the needles, they'd fallen into an uncomfortable, almost respectful silence. She'd remained curled in a tight ball throughout the entire process, making no noise except the occasional whimper when she couldn't stand it any more. In the end, the torture was no fun for anybody.

At least she'd stayed put on one side, rather than writhing around: only half of her body was riddled with pinpricks and cuts. Though small, the wounds stung and smarted horribly, spotting her shirt and trousers with blood, making the fabric stick to her skin.

Hook sauntered over, putting himself in her line of sight, but from the brooding look on his face she knew Smee had told all.

"Ready for it to be over, sweetheart?"

"Not by half."

"Look at you. Your clothes are bloody, your hair's a mess, you're freezing cold. You're starving and thirsty. Don't you want to come up to my cabin and have a nice hot meal, and something to drink?"

"You've tidied it up, then."

"Aye," he chuckled, "you pesky thing. It's all back to the way it was."

"Who was that woman in the picture?"

His features barely moved; only his eyebrows dropped a fraction. "Someone I used to know."

"Is that what your revenge is all about? Did she betray you for the Dark One or something?" Delila paused, reading his expression. "No. He took her away from you, didn't he."

"You're a sharp one."

"Did he take your hand, as well?"

"Aye, he did."

"What a bastard," she mused. "It's a shame you deserve it. I'd have a little more sympathy otherwise."

"I don't want sympathy. I want my vengeance, and I'm getting impatient."

"Well, you know what I want. No need to go over it again."

At this his face creased into a scowl, a real scowl with no trace of his former humour, his teeth bared slightly as his eyes bored into hers. Delila stared back defiantly.

"So be it," he growled.

Turning on his heel, his leather coat whirling after him, he stormed back up the steps and out of sight. He wasn't away for long, however, and when he returned it was with Smee.

"Take her out of the cage," he ordered. "String her up by her wrists."

The first mate hurried to obey, fetching a key from the wall and ensuring the manacles on the hanging chains were unlocked. Delila could no more resist him than sink the entire ship: her limbs were like dead weights, her legs so cramped she could hardly straighten them. She dangled from the chains like a fish on a line.

"Cut her shirt off, Smee."

Hook was bent over a nearby chest, browsing its contents. As Smee obeyed, Delila cursing and cussing him with all her might, the Captain brought out a long, thin black whip with a single bladed tail.

"As I said, love." Spreading his arms, he let the whip trail along the ground as he approached her. "I'm all out of patience."

Dressed in nothing but her trousers and breast band, she followed his movements with a mounting panic as he circled her. Hook came to a halt a couple of yards behind her, and with a flick of his wrist, drew the whip back.

"Last chance."

With a deep breath, Delila forced herself to turn her head away. Her entire body vibrated with fear, the breath coming and going too quickly from her lungs.

"Go to hell."

Smee gave a little jolt, the whip whistled through the air, and Delila's body was ripped in half. She let her body go limp, the manacles biting into her wrists. No point in trying to hold the screams in this time. Her voice echoed horribly around the brig, eerie and inhuman. The crew was probably used to it, she thought savagely as she struggled to her feet again. They probably hadn't even turned over in their hammocks.

"Where can I find out about the Dark One?"

"In hell, when you finally get there."

Another lash, this one even worse than the first because she knew what was coming.

"Where can I find out about him?"

"Not telling," she sang, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from her chest.

The third stroke turned her vision dark and made her retch, though there was nothing to bring up. For a moment Hook didn't speak.

"Where?" he asked finally, his voice as cutting as the whip.

She simply hung there, taking one breath at a time, ignoring him. Part of her wondered how she was doing this, how she hadn't already told him everything. The other part answered: it wasn't a choice.

Hook's sigh was long and heavy. "Mister Smee, fetch the pickles, if you please."

 _Pickles_? Delila didn't have long to wonder what he meant before the first mate was back with a wooden bowl-not of pickles, but juice. Hook cast the whip aside and took the bowl, dipping his hand into the liquid.

"Are you really sure you don't want to tell me?" he murmured as he came to stand beside her.

"I can't," she wheezed. "Don't you get that yet?"

"Everyone thinks they can't. Then suddenly they can. You should just jump the gun, love. Save yourself the trouble."

Then he was running his hand over her back, and wherever he touched turned to liquid fire. She barely noticed his hands cupping her face.

"Just tell me."

"Make it stop!"

"Tell me and I promise it'll stop."

"I can't, I can't! Make it stop!"

"Tell me."

"No!"

Gradually, gradually, the pain dulled. Just enough that she could think again. Dimly she was aware of Hook in front of her, almost holding her off the ground, and Smee a squat, hulking figure beside him.

"I think we need something more, Captain. What'll it be? Branding? The rack? Keelhauling? I'll wager she'll talk once the barnacles have stripped the rest of her flesh off."

With difficulty she concentrated on Hook's face. He was still scowling, but there was something different about it now. His jaw was set, the muscles of his face clenched, lips closed in a firm line. His blue eyes flickered back and forth between hers.

"You're really not going to tell me?" he murmured.

Sluggishly she shook her head. He was swimming in and out of focus; the pain came in great throbs that blurred her vision, as though she were dipping her head in and out of water. Then, impossibly, he shook his head.

"Bad form," he said softly to himself. "No point in going any further."

"What's that, Captain?"

More loudly, Hook addressed Delila. "Is this treasure real?"

"It is, I swear it is."

"I take half of it. Then you tell me what I want to know. Deal?"

Delila smiled. "You want half of my treasure?"

"Swear to me, or I'll start taking Smee's advice and use you as a barnacle remover."

"Alright," she whispered. "Alright. I'll share."

Letting her go, Hook stepped back. At once he began talking to Smee, giving some kind of instructions, but the words drifted over her in a blur.

It was over. It was over.

Her body pulsed with agony, her eyes closing as she let her head drop, lungs struggling to take in air as her arms stretched tight above her. Exhaustion enveloped her like a sheet, wrapping her up in a warm nothingness, until even physical sensation had lost all meaning. The pain was just there, neither good nor bad. Her body was gone. The room was gone.

She sank into a velvety darkness, and forgot everything.


End file.
